


Nobody messes with my coffee warmer

by jjjat3am



Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:59:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/jjjat3am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets made from various prompts and too tiny to be posted on their own.</p><p>Ch.1: CriminalAU - Jorian<br/>Ch.2: John is sick and Dorian takes care of him - Jorian<br/>Ch.3: 3 times John was surprised by Dorian and one time he wasn't - Jorian<br/>Ch.4: The Epic Adventures of Richard Paul and his MX partner<br/>Ch. 5: turned into a kittenAU - Jorian<br/>Ch. 6: The Road to Ithaca - Dorian loses his memory - Jorian<br/>Ch.7 :Tattoo fic - Jorian<br/>Ch.8: 'They can’t deactivate you if they can’t find you'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CriminalAU

The alleyway stood abandoned, save for a stray cat haunting the corner of a dumpster. It was overseen by an old surveillance camera, back from when they didn’t come with biometric sensors. The cat paid it little mind, intent on the piece of sandwich it had found.

 

The blinking camera suddenly whirred and with the creaking of its holder turned just a little to the left. The cat’s ears perked up in interest and caution. The sewer lid, almost unnoticeable, covered by so much dirt, rose up and a man climbed out, swearing quietly under his breath. The cat flinched, making a sound on the scattered newspapers and the man froze.

 

They stared at each other.

 

The cat and the man hissed at each other almost in unison. The cat disappeared into the dumpster, while the man ran out the alleyway and straight into a non-descript white van.

 

“Have you got the tech, John?”

 

The van drove away. If someone had reason to check its plates they’d find them registered to a Mary Raith from Iowa. If they bothered to dig deeper they would eventually be lead to a farmhouse in Iowa, where nobody but rats had lived for years. Rudy thought it might be funny.

 

“Who do you think I am? Of course I got the tech.” John tossed the little chip carelessly in Rudy’s direction, nodding to Stahl grinning at him in the review mirror. “They’re getting smarter. I almost got crushed by the vault door this time. If it hadn’t fallen I’d have brought you a sample from the Sonic Bombs. They were stacked right next to the entrance. I think the MXs are coded to me already.”

 

“Possible. You lead them on quite the chase.” Rudy nodded towards the hologram displaying John’s route.

 

“I wouldn’t want to meet one of those tin cans in a fight. Good thing they aren’t that smart. What did Maldonado say?”

 

“The same thing she says every time. You need a partner.”

 

“No, I don’t. I’m perfectly fine on my own, without a mass of carbon fiber following me around.” As if on cue, his synthetic leg gave off an ominous beep. Stahl snorted from the driver’s seat.

 

“Well, she isn’t taking no for an answer this time. Be at the bunker bright and early tomorrow.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rudy didn’t answer, too engrossed in the ciphers of the government tech.

 

John leaned his head against the side of the van and closed his eyes. The bruise on his side was a throbbing pain, adding to the constant phantom pain in his prosthetic. He didn’t need a partner, especially a robotic one and if Maldonado thought any different she was welcome to find herself a new master thief.

 

*

 

The next morning he was at the bunker bright and early.

 

He’d actually never been able to deny Maldonado much of anything, largely because he’d seen her eviscerate a man with a bowtie and a pair of curlers, but also because she was the one who gave him a chance to work in a group after he hurt his leg on a solo job.

 

She was waiting for him on the ground floor of the bunker, a maze of rooms stationed underground and used exclusively by their little group. Stahl, the driver, lifted a hand in salute from where she was pouring over maps with Paul. Paul was the infiltration specialist and John hated him with a fiery passion, but had to admit he was good at his job.

 

Maldonado handed him a cup of coffee and signaled him to follow. It wasn’t until they entered the elevator that would take them to Rudy’s workshop that she spoke.

 

“I got Rudy to go through the cargo we seized from the NASA transporter last year. He found you a new partner.”

 

“I am not partnering with a robot! I don’t want a partner!”

 

“Tough. You’re getting one.” She was leaning casually against the wall next to him, but something in the sharpness of her smile reminded him of the look on that poor man’s face when she twisted that first curler…

 

“Fine.” John winced at how high his voice sounded. Still, there were some people who should not be crossed and Sandra Maldonado, for all her compassion, was one of them.

 

Rudy was already waiting for them in the midst of the clutter of his workshop. There was an android head set upon a shelf that John swore winked at him every time he looked at it closely, and a multitude of tools and spare parts lying around on the tables.

 

Amidst the chaos was a biopod with a body inside it. Not a body, John reminded himself, a robot.

 

Still, it was startling how human it looked, like someone just succumbed to deep slumber.

 

“This is DRN unit 0167…” Rudy spoke without prompting, patting running a diagnostic over the robot’s shoulder.

 

“Wait. DRN? That’s one of the crazy ones!” John interrupted. Rudy looked positively offended.

 

“This coming from a man who once threw himself through a 5th story window when there was a perfectly functional door across the room.”

 

“I thought there were MXs outside! If someone had bothered telling me…” Maldonado’s hand squeezing his shoulder shut him up.

 

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted…” Rudy suddenly exploded into nearly hysterical laughter, the head on the shelf giggling along. “Get it? Rudely, because I’m-“he dissolved into laughter again. “Rudy!” the head squealed.

 

“Can we get on track here?” Maldonado’s curt tone cut in.

 

“Righto.” Rudy cleared his throat, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “The unit runs a program called Synthetic soul which means it functions fully as a human being. I took the liberty of tampering a bit with his justice drive and I did a little reprogramming that should make him amiable to our side.” Rudy’s smile had a dark edge to it and Maldonado nodded approvingly.

 

Rudy handed him a steel rod, the only thing that looked new and clean in the workshop.

 

“Touch his left ear with that, bring our baby into the world! It’ll be symbolic.” “Symbolic!” echoed the head with a giggle and Rudy smiled at it approvingly.

 

John did as instructed and the synthetic woke up with a gasp. The first thing John noticed was how startlingly blue his eyes were. Months later, he’d think that was when he started falling.

 

“Hi, John. My name is Dorian.”

 

“How the hell do you know my name?” seeing Rudy opening his mouth “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Come on, we have work to do.”

 

*

 

Dorian was annoying and handsome and intelligent and he insisted on petting every cat they came across.

 

After the fifth time Dorian tried to make a friendly observation (“would you like to pet the cat, John? Pets are good for your blood pressure.”) John snarled at him.

 

“Look! The only reason I’m taking you along is because Maldonado will break me if I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need you and never will!”

 

The cat hissed at him. Dorian was silent and compliant from then on.

 

It was disconnecting.

 

*

 

Of course, John was forced to eat his words on their next job, when Dorian hauled him out of a collapsing elevator shaft. Or the next one when he saved him from a fiery death via MX armed with a flamethrower. Or the next time when he took on an android twice his size to buy John enough time to steal a blueprint.

 

“Remind me how you ever survived without me?” said Dorian while fishing pieces of glass out of John’s skull.

 

John stayed silent, rather than tell him that he wasn’t sure either.

 

*

 

The problem with Dorian was that he had this bad habit of staring at people. Well…staring at John, specifically.

 

One day, on a rather long stretch doing surveillance on a potential job, John finally had enough.

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“You know what. Stop it.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re on about.”

 

John made a frustrated noise and shifted in his seat, reaching out a hand to cover Dorian’s eyes. That was a mistake.

 

Dorian was pliant under his hand, eyelashes tickling lightly against his palm. His skin was surprisingly warm, if foreign in the absence of oil and body hair. John could feel him move with his breath.

 

“Stop staring at me.” His voice came out softer than he intended and he moved his hand away quickly. His pulse was jumping and he knew Dorian’s sensors wouldn’t miss it.

 

“Whatever you say, John.”

 

Smiling. The biggest problem with Dorian was definitely the smiling.

 

*

 

It hit them as a complete surprise.

 

Dorian was entering the steel enforced structure of the bunker before him, when the explosion happened.

 

It sent John flying through the air like a rag doll, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. He was able to push himself up, thankful that his prosthetic survived, but one thought kept roaring through his blood. Dorian wasn’t there.

 

He shuffled towards the burning structure, intent on finding him.

 

As he reached the still standing doorway, a body collided with his. It was Dorian.

 

The scent of burnt plastic filled the air as John dragged the robot away from the wreckage. The synthetic skin on one of his arms was burnt and blackened, and there was a hole in his head exposing ugly purple wires. He was looking up at John as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

 

Honestly, he’d never looked more beautiful.

 

John pulled him closer and captured his lips in a bruising, almost desperate kiss. Dorianresponded in kind and they traded kisses amongst the wreckage like prizes. It wasn’t until the police sirens sounded that they broke apart, foreheads resting together.

 

“The others?” John whispered against his lips.

 

“I don’t know.” Dorian sounded distressed, but John could feel the steel in his tone.

 

“I guess it’s just you and me then, partner.”

 

Dorian smiled.


	2. John isn't an amiable patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes: When I was a tiny baby I used to get sick a lot and the only way Mom would be able to lower my temperature was to put me in a bath with my elevated temperature and then slowly cooling the water and my fever with it. It’s not a legit medical procedure, but I thought it might be an interesting thing to include.
> 
> So without further ado:

Dorian is worried.

 

He’d taken John’s temperature over an hour ago, brushing his fingers lightly against his wrist, and his sensors had sensed an alarming shift in temperature. Since then, the detective’s throat clearing had turned into wracking coughs and the way he’s blinking slowly at the communications pad is betraying his impending migraine.

 

Dorian has very clear protocols he’s supposed to follow in cases like this, but he knows that John doesn’t like him reporting to his superiors. Truth be told, he’s not fond of it either and neglects it at every opportunity. His databanks have several suggestions on how to care for another human when they’re sick, but the trouble is, he’s having a hard time choosing one that won’t have the detective closing off like a clam on him. John has problems with both physical and verbal shows of affection, or so Dorian has learned. It’s almost like he doesn’t feel he deserves them and Dorian has made it his life plan to change that. In the meantime, barbs and challenges seem to do the trick, but they aren’t exactly applicable in this situation.

 

Dorian finally breaks, when John’s head starts tipping forward to rest in his hands after a particularly bad cough and he gets up to collect their jackets.

 

“Come on, John. Let’s get you home.” He helps steady the detective as he stands up. His temperature has gone up from where it was before. It’s not in dangerous levels yet, but it’s worrying nonetheless.

 

“Is shift over?”

 

“You’re in no state to be at work, John. Give me your keys.”

 

John gives them up without a fight and if Dorian weren’t worried already, he’d definitely be worried now. He helps John put on his jacket and grasps his elbow to steer him. Still no protest.

 

They run into the Chief in the hallway, but after Dorian explains the situation she agrees to let them have the rest of the week off. John squints at the winter sunlight outside, covering his eyes with a barely perceptible groan that turns into a shuddering cough and has Dorian pulling him into the car and out of the cool air as quickly as possible.

 

The drive home takes them almost twice as long as usual, mostly because Dorian actually obeys all the traffic rules, instead of running red lights like John usually does. John raises out of his slump for long enough to turn off the radio, grumbling about the screeching voice of the newest pop sensation, but mostly he’s silent, except for the occasional cough.

 

They enter John’s loft, Dorian balancing the bag from the pharmacy and soup in one hand and an increasingly wobbly John in the other. He deposits the detective on the bed and goes to put them away, only to return to find him in the exact same position he left him in.

 

John grumbles throughout Dorian helping him undress.

 

“Let me sleep!” while removing the jacket.

 

“It’s too bright!” the shirt.

 

“I’m cold.” the pants.

 

He remains curiously silent when Dorian moves to remove his prosthetic. Dorian chances a glance at him to find him determinately looking away from Dorian’s hands on his thigh, lips pressed into a thin line and face flushed. Dorian takes the utmost care with the limb, touching it only when he has to and saving any comments, lest he upset the detective further. He brushes the softest of touches against the dock when he’s finished, careful so that John doesn’t notice, and calms the jumbled data flow inside it. John doesn’t react, but his shoulders relax slightly, so Dorian takes that as a positive.

 

Dorian gives him some pills and water, and watches him from the corner of his eyes as he activates the mechanisms that darken the windows. John takes them without protest though his grimace betrays their taste.

 

Dorian tucks him in and leaves the room, when the detective starts complaining that he can’t rest with the android watching him. Soon after, the almost painful coughing starts and Dorian carefully brews some tea.

 

If possible, John looks even worse after half an hour of rest. When Dorian brushes his fingers against his forehead to take his temperature, the detective only presses closer, which almost worries him more than the rapidly rising temperature his sensors are picking up. He’d been aware of his own feelings for a while, but hadn’t been convinced that John returned them. Sure, there’d been a lot of telling glances and awkward pauses between them, but no definite confessions. Though, Dorian was sure that if he were waiting for John to actually verbally express them, he’d be waiting for quite a while.

 

But John is sick and this is no time for Dorian to stray into his love life, depressing as it is.

 

His problem solving algorithms are providing several means of dealing with John’s elevated temperature, most of them involving things that he doesn’t have, like bathtubs. Still, he can improvise.

 

So he strips down and slips into the bed next to John, careful to keep some space between them.

 

He carefully regulates his core body temperature to just a few degrees below John’s. Soon enough, John starts drifting towards the source of cool relief, twisting and turning in his sleep. At first he moves just close enough to touch and Dorian moves one hand to brush his forehead and card through his hair. That seems to be all the invitation the detective needs and he burrows closer, Dorian wrapping himself around him like a blanket, guiding John’s flushed face to rest against his neck.

 

Dorian starts lowering his body temperature degree by degree, careful of not lowering it too quickly and disturbing John. Eventually the fever breaks and John starts breathing easier. Dorian wakes him up enough to change him into some non-sweaty pajamas, but resumes his post as John’s blanket after the detective grips his wrist and tugs him back to bed.

 

They remain like this for the rest of the night, John sleeping peacefully and Dorian keeping strict watch over his breathing and temperature. If he takes the time to observe John relaxed for once, well, nobody is around to complain.

 

*

 

“Why are you in my bed?” Dorian opens his eyes and levels a smirk at the disheveled detective.

 

“Well, good morning to you too, princess.”

 

“What are you…are you naked?!” John’s face is rapidly acquiring a rather fetching blush, but Dorian notes that he isn’t moving away.

 

“You were sick. I needed to lower your temperature.”

 

“So you decided to molest me?” Dorian decides to take a chance, moving the hand on John’s hip, which had previously kept the detective anchored closely to his side, to slowly slide under his tank top, skimming against the trail of body hair he finds there. John shudders.

 

“Are you complaining?” he moves closer to whisper against John’s lips. “You’re looking a bit flushed there…princess.”

 

He watches John’s pupils dilate right before the detective seals their lips together. They kiss passionately for a few moments, before John interrupts the kiss with a massive sneeze. The disgruntled look on his face is so comical that Dorian descends into laughter while handing him a tissue.

 

John blows his nose, glaring at him all the while, before chucking the tissue at his head.

 

Dorian is still laughing when John tugs him down to settle against him again, fighting off another bout of wracking coughs.

 

“So I’m your pillow now?” Dorian says, while rubbing the other’s back in circular motions as the attack subsides.

 

“It’s not like you can get sick anyway.” John’s voice is hoarse from the coughing, but Dorian can hear the smirk in his voice and it only makes the arm he has thrown around him tighten.

 

“Go back to sleep, my friend.”

 

“Just…do me a favor and don’t watch me. That’s creepy.” Dorian smiles at the light snores against his collarbone.

 

“Whatever you say, John.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: major character death

> _1\. In which there is chocolate cake_
> 
>  
> 
> The thing about Dorian is that he’s so human, that John just forgets sometimes.
> 
>  
> 
> So when his meal at the restaurant came with complimentary chocolate cake (in hindsight likely because Dorian had impressed the owner with his flawless French), he didn’t think twice about offering Dorian a forkful, after the first nearly orgasmic bite proved it to be the best cake he ever tasted.
> 
>  
> 
> He realized his mistake, but Dorian’s lips had already closed around the fork and he took the bite with a thoughtful frown. After a moment, his face lit up with wonder and John’s sarcastic comment died in his throat.
> 
>  
> 
> “I thought you couldn’t eat?” was what he managed to get out.
> 
>  
> 
> “I have a small storage space for organic samples for easier transport from crime scenes and the sensors to analyze it.” John didn’t miss the way Dorian was eyeing the chocolate cake. “But I got an update from Rudy this weekend, giving me some taste buds.” John nodded thoughtfully and Dorian continued. “Hey man…how about another bite of that?”
> 
>  
> 
> John took one look at Dorian’s hopeful expression and hunched his form around the little plate, hiding it from the android.
> 
>  
> 
> “Nope.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Oh come on, John!” Dorian tried to reach around him, but John evaded his grasp, boldly picking up the plate and moving it out of Dorian’s reach. “Gimme!”
> 
>  
> 
> “You didn’t pay for it!” “Neither did you!”
> 
>  
> 
> A moment of silence. Then:
> 
>  
> 
> “You are such a child.” Dorian rolled his eyes as John gave him a close-lipped smile, cheeks full of the piece of cake he swallowed in one go. A cough interrupted them and they turned to face the decidedly less impressed restaurant owner.
> 
>  
> 
> Unsurprisingly, they get banned from the restaurant for life.
> 
>  
> 
> Still, the next time Dorian does something stupidly heroic that inevitably saves John’s life, John secretly makes his way to the nearest bakery, leaving a piece of chocolate cake on Dorian’s desk.
> 
>  
> 
> They don’t mention it and John never finds out if Dorian’s noises of pleasure are really from the cake or almost strictly for his benefit.
> 
> _2\. In which Dorian acquires habits_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> There are little things that make Dorian appear human and John doesn’t usually register them, until he has to deal with the MXs who are utterly devoid of them.
> 
>  
> 
> So it was only after he had to partner with a MX for a few hours, after Dorian went for an update, that he noticed the way Dorian constantly drummed his fingers against his thigh.
> 
>  
> 
> The DRN have a number of ways they use to get rid of the tension in their artificial muscles and John is almost too familiar with the grimaces and sounds Dorian usually makes, but this is different somehow. Dorian seemed unaware he was doing it and they arrived at the crime scene before John could point it out.
> 
>  
> 
> Now that he’d seen it, it can’t be unseen and in the next few days he observed Dorian tapping a rhythm on the following: his desk, the interrogation room table, the coffee machine, his gun holster and on one memorable occasion, John.
> 
>  
> 
> They were standing close together, listening in on Valerie interrogating a suspect, when John felt soft tapping on his lower back. He turned around to give Dorian a look and the android stopped immediately, looking at his hand like it had betrayed him. For the next few days, Dorian tried to consciously stop himself from tapping, growing frustrated when he caught himself.
> 
>  
> 
> It wasn’t until the trial that John caught him doing it again. They were waiting for a verdict that might be the difference between letting a serial rapist go free or putting him away for a long time and tensions were high, because the case depended entirely on their evidence.
> 
>  
> 
> Dorian’s hand started tapping in a familiar rhythm and John finally decided to give into the impulse, reaching for Dorian’s hand and stilling it.
> 
>  
> 
> They didn’t talk, but they waited out the verdict hand in hand.
> 
> _In which they live together_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> A few months into their relationship, John woke up with Dorian curled up around him, hand protectively covering his stump, and realized that Dorian had managed to move in without him noticing.
> 
>  
> 
> His jacket is beside John’s in the hallway, his clothing hanging in John’s closet and a portable version of his biopod is sitting on the kitchen table. It’s not like Dorian had a lot of possessions in the first place, but it was still startling how seamlessly they melded with John’s own.
> 
>  
> 
> In fact, John realized, it was quite possible he mistakenly wore Dorian’s underwear to work yesterday. He’d thought it was a little loose.
> 
>  
> 
> It became apparent very early that neither of them could cook, so their mornings usually consisted of John taking a shower while Dorian made toast and coffee, and then snarked at John unchallenged over the kitchen table because John wasn’t awake enough to come up with a clever shut down.
> 
>  
> 
> They spent the day together at work and had dinner afterward. Or rather, John ate and Dorian charmed a long line of waiters, waitresses and restaurant owners. Thenthey went home to watch a game or go over case files until it was time for bed. That was the part John disliked the most, going to bed on his own, because Dorian had to use the portable biopod to recharge and connect to his servers. He’d slip into bed next to John in the early hours of the morning, raising his body temperature because John sometimes got cold at night.
> 
>  
> 
> It occurred to John that he’d been waking up warm for the past few months. Also, that it was a Saturday and they could sleep in. So he tightened his hold on his partner and went back to sleep.
> 
>  
> 
> Talks about Dorian’s ninja moving in skills could wait for later.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \+ 1  _In which there is tears_
> 
>  
> 
> John is dying.
> 
> Dorian sensed the drop in his vitals that morning and John still sees him in his mind’s eye, how his shoulders had slumped and how his sweet smile had turned to sadness, as he gently stroked John’s snow touched hair.
> 
>  
> 
> They’re curled up around each other now, the only noise in the room the sound of John’s respirator. The need for conversation had passed, they’d said more than enough over the years they spent together. All John wants is to press himself even closer to his partner, to bury himself into those immortal bones forever; because that would mean that he would never have to leave and Dorian would never have cause to look so sad.
> 
>  
> 
> John drinks him in, his tired eyes blurry and unreliable, and he still looks as beautiful as the day he first smiled at him, face unmarred by the passage of time. There is a blip on the monitor and Dorian’s face just crumples and he pulls himself even closer, molding their bodies together.
> 
>  
> 
> “John…” his voice is a broken whisper and John moves just enough to rest their lips together. He feels wetness on his cheeks and he can’t tell if it’s his own or Dorian’s.
> 
>  
> 
> “Can you cry, Dorian? I had a bet going with Valerie.” Dorian laughs a little against his cheek.
> 
>  
> 
> “Fully equipped tearducts, man.” He becomes aware of Dorian’s body shaking against his and he wants to pull him closer, wants to comfort him, but he can’t. He can’t. He’s not strong enough anymore and for a moment he wants to scream at the injustice of it, that he is to be robbed of that one thing in his last moment, that the power of bringing a smile to Dorian’s face had been taken from him forever.
> 
>  
> 
> “I knew it.” The darkness beckons and even if he’d be happiest lying right there with his Dorian for all eternity, he’s helpless to resist. It’s seems suddenly crucial to form those last few words he can.
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t cry for me, Dorian.” His heart shakes and his breath stills. The last thing he sees before he goes are Dorian’s eyes, filled with tears.
> 
>  
> 
> “Too late.”
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  


	4. The Epic Adventures of Richard Paul and his MX partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: MX-43 is a little shit and Richard needs to be taken down a few pegs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cheer up after the previous chapter

>  
> 
> The first time Richard thinks his MX might be malfunctioning is when he orders it to get him a coffee and it presents him with a brew that has him gagging right after.
> 
>  
> 
> "What the hell? How much sugar did you put in this?"
> 
>  
> 
> "You said:" and it’s eerie to hear his voice coming from the android’s mouth "Bring me coffee with a lot of sugar and be quick about it, you useless piece of metal!"
> 
>  
> 
> There’s no denying it that the coffee has a lot of sugar in it - in fact, there’s enough sugar that the spoon is basically standing upright in the brew. Richard complains and insults, but it’s hard to get any satisfaction from it, when the person you’re yelling at doesn’t even flinch or otherwise show your words are affecting them. So he shuts up, frowning sadly at his coffee, ignoring the disappointed look Stahl is levelling in his direction. 
> 
>  
> 
> The MX’s expression doesn’t change, but to Richard it still seems very self-satisfied.
> 
>  
> 
> It escalates from there.
> 
>  
> 
> He asks for a powdered doughnut and the MX returns an hour later with a doughnut that is, literately, powdered.
> 
>  
> 
> No seriously, the stupid machine must have held it under a drier of some kind so it dried out and hardened, and then grinded it into powder before presenting it to the detective. 
> 
>  
> 
> Richard ate it, just out of spite.
> 
>  
> 
> On the next crime scene, a simple command of ‘Stay close!’ has him tripping over his MX at every opportunity, the robot crowded so far into his personal space they may as well be a part of Kennex and his DRN’s Robot Love Extravaganza.
> 
>  
> 
> "Will you stop that!" gets him a: "I’m just obeying orders, Sir." and any attempts to retract his order get shot down due to a mysterious "Update buffering, Sir, it will be 9898 seconds until optimization of servers."
> 
>  
> 
> The MX takes a bullet for his efforts. It saves Richard from a certainly fatal gunshot wound to the heart, so he supposes he should be grateful. After he cuffs the suspect, he makes an effort to breach the subject with his partner, trying to ignore the still smoking hole in his torso.
> 
>  
> 
> "Uhhhh…good shieldwork there, uh…" he tries to read the number on the MX’s uniform "…MX-43." then quieter and definitely embarrassed "Thank you." 
> 
>  
> 
> The MX doesn’t respond and after a moment Richard throws his hands up in a gesture of despair and ambles away, muttering about ‘useless and unappreciative machines’ all the while.
> 
>  
> 
> The next day, he comes to work to a perfectly brewed cup of coffee and a chocolate sprinkle doughnut (the kind you have to practically fight the guys from Vice to get). When he bites into it, he catches the MX’s empty gaze and gives it a tentative nod. He doesn’t react or change his expression at all, but to Richard he almost looks…pleased.
> 
>  
> 
> Not much changes though, Richard is still an asshole, he’s not denying it, he couldn’t even change for his wife, there’s no reason he’ll do it for an unemotional robot. But maybe he doesn’t curse him out quite so much and maybe MX-43 is the first one with charging privileges after a solar flare.
> 
>  
> 
> Though, he has to burst out laughing one day after he tells his MX to ‘Keep an eye on the clock!’ and then comes in to find it’s eye sensor sitting on the vintage clock his ex-wife got him, the MX standing innocuously in the corner.
> 
>  
> 
> He gives up on idioms entirely after ‘bring me the paperwork, and step on it!’, means he has to pay for a very expensive communication pad, because ‘…it’s not the MX’s fault, he was just obeying orders!’.
> 
>  
> 
> But the weird partnership continues and grows strong enough that when MX-43 is completely annihilated in an explosion, Richard gets piss drunk and vomits all over Kennex’s shoes.
> 
>  
> 
> It takes him a long time to get used to his newly assigned unit. Or rather, it takes until MX-89 takes the initiative to wake him up with a car horn next time he falls asleep on the job.

 

 

 

 


	5. In which there is kittens

 

There was an explosion, because all good stories start that way. Though, looking at Dorian’s mangled body on Rudy’s table, John is having a hard time believing in fairy tales.

 

“Well, the good news is that I can definitely fix him.” Rudy adjusted his looking glass and John was treated with the appetizing view of his magnified nostrils. “But it’s gonna take some time.”

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime? I’m not partnering with an MX!” Rudy pulled a piece out of the mess of wiring in Dorian’s head with a triumphant ‘Ah-ha!’

 

“I may have a fix for that!” It turns out that the little box Rudy pulled out is Dorian’s personality chip. First, they try putting it into an MX, only to fry its circuits beyond salvation, which John notes with some satisfaction. But even if the technology is incompatible with the MXs, there are models that fit it.

 

Which is why John is currently having a staring contest with a cat seated on Valerie’s lap.

 

The android pets were a line of robotic units meant to function as companions to people allergic to animal fur or people that were suffering from illnesses. They were made to mimic real animals as closely as possible, utilizing a primitive version of the Synthetic Soul programming to achieve a certain degree of empathy.

 

None of which John registers because the cat is staring at him with Dorian’s blue eyes and he’s already getting a bad feeling about the whole endeavor. At least with the hypoallergenic fur he hasn’t started sneezing yet.

 

He packs the cat – Dorian, he should probably remember that – in the car and they drive off. For the first 5 minutes, everything is fine, but then ‘What’s new pussycat’ comes on the radio and Dorian starts yowling along until John slams his fist so hard in the radio screen, it fizzes and dies out. Dorian spends the whole ride staring at him accusingly, his kitty eyes somehow much harder to ignore.

 

He stares at John throughout his evening routine, trailing behind him, furry tail swishing. John heats up some ramen and turns around to see him grooming on the counter. John eats, kitty Dorian plays with the dying plant he has on his windowsill (it hasn’t been watered since Anna).

 

It’s not until he realizes that he’s spent the past half an hour watching cat Dorian trying to topple over the pot that he finally speaks.

 

“You know, you’re kind of cute for a cat.” The look the cat gives him is so distinctly Dorian, John has to laugh.

 

It’s not until later that he realizes he hadn’t spent an evening that relaxed in months.

 

John has to get used to Dorian being everywhere from then on. He stays up too late? Dorian starts yowling until he closes the case file and goes to bed. He eats ramen to many times? Dorian starts stealing the packets and hiding them under his charging dock. He oversleeps? Dorian climbs onto the headboard and starts jumping on his head. One day he even trips over him coming out of the shower, after which he never forgets to close the bathroom door behind him. Not that it helps. John just hopes he isn’t scanning his testicles again.

 

Dorian’s presence in the squad car, which John insisted upon, is the only thing that makes riding with an MX bearable. Watching a cat rolling its eyes on his dashboard is somehow amusing enough that it keeps him from shooting the MX that insists on talking even through a mute order and a gag.

 

Dorian is still surprisingly useful in apprehending suspects, because if it’s one thing an over-enthusiastic gunman doesn’t expect, it’s a cat unleashing the full force of his sharp claws on his face while John gains enough momentum to tackle him.

 

So under penalty, John would admit it’s not entirely unpleasant to have a cat around. Or to have Dorian around, whichever way you looked at it.

 

The real test comes, when John is having one of his frequent night terrors and he wakes, gasping and crying, to a warm weight curled into the crook of his arm. He looks down, only to be faced with two slightly glowing blue eyes. They stare at each other for a moment, before Dorian starts a deep rumbling purr and John’s eyes start slipping shut.

 

It becomes a regular thing after that and John is able to forgo his sleeping pills almost entirely.

 

Which is why he starts suffering from insomnia when his partner gets his shiny new body back.

 

It’s nice to have his partner back on cases, chasing the suspects and bickering in the car (maybe not that last one – at least when he was a cat he couldn’t talk back). Still, he can’t help but miss the cat Dorian at night when he wakes up, unconsciously curled around a thing that isn’t there.

 

They never talk about the time Dorian spent as a cat.

 

John figures he doesn’t actually remember much, until Dorian proves him wrong by appearing at the door of his apartment one evening, white teethe gleaming in a way not entirely reminiscent of the fangs he used to have.

 

“You’re not sleeping.” Dorian states when he’s stationed on John’s living room sofa (conveniently in the spot he preferred as a cat) “You have bags under your eyes, your dexterity is suffering and you almost shot detective Paul yesterday for drinking the last cup of coffee, don’t try to lie to me, John.”

 

“Well, so what? People are allowed to have off days at times, that’s what makes us human!” John puts special emphasis on the ‘human’ part, knowing that it makes him petty and feeling slightly guilty at the frown that appears on Dorian’s face.

 

“I’m sleeping here tonight.”

 

“The hell you are!”

 

The hell he is apparently, because he’s in John’s bed two hours later and John is still a little unclear on the details of how that happened. It’s awkward, painfully so, Dorian lying on the side that Anna used to take, except there was never this much space between them then.

 

He shuts off the light.

 

Thirty minutes later, when he wakes up from another dream of his dead partner’s face before the fire took him, Dorian is wrapped around him like a blanket, face resting in the crook of his elbow. After a moment, a purr starts up and John is too tired to laugh, so he drifts off to sleep.

 

They get a cat, many years later, but by then there’s not enough room for it on the bed.

 

 

 


	6. The Road to Ithaca

> _How much of our memory is who we are?_
> 
> _How many who wander are forgotten?_

 

 

He wakes as if from a dream, grasping at images that always slip right through his fingers.

 

DRN-0167 steps out of his biopod to join other units in the trek to their stations. His internal clock says it’s daylight outside, but he’s got no chance of seeing it in the depths of the station.

 

He’s not even sure why he bothers keeping it running. Or why he calls himself Dorian when there’s nothing he can remember to connect him to that name.

 

There’s just the big dark emptiness of the station hall and the feeling of something missing.

 

*

 

He hasn’t been at the station long, this he knows, though if pressed he couldn’t tell you how long he’s been staring at the mess of parts in front of him and connecting them together in sharp, ordered motions.

 

His fellow DRNs move mechanically on either side of him and he searches their blue eyes every day. He’s not sure what he’s searching for, except that he wants it desperately.

 

But it’s hard to miss something he doesn’t even remember existing and it’s hard to search for eyes when he’s not sure who they belong to.

 

*

 

One day he wakes up and there’s a whole new archive in his head. He knows the inner workings of an engine and dashboards of bright lights and sleek buttons. That day his path is different, as he joins the DRNs heading for the dispersion center.

 

His hands fit the new motions without clumsiness or hesitance. He wonders if they fit so well for everything or if he’s been rebuilt overnight to work the sleek controls he finds in front of him. He wonders what he was first built to do.

 

The daylight almost blinds him when he sees it for the first time through the windshield of the train he’s operating. Or it would, if his eye sensors were capable of blindness. Instead he adjusts the levers and shows nothing.

 

Inside, his synapses are rushing with the pure joy of it.

 

*

 

A station is in repair, which means the train drivers must walk outside from their posts to their charging station. They move among the humans, silent and invisible.

 

Then, Dorian hears his name pierce the silence surrounding his brothers and he turns around on some long forgotten impulse.

 

There is a man.

 

His face is weathered and his eyes have dark bags under them, as if he hadn’t slept in a long while. The way he holds his body suggests a prosthetic limb. Rejected.

 

Dorian looks at him incomprehensively and feels a twinge of concern when the other man’s face contorts into a grimace of pain.

 

“Never mind.” The man mutters and hurries away.

 

Dorian jogs to catch up with the others, meeting the blue gaze of another DRN and giving him a polite nod.

_‘Wrong’_  his programs scream.  _‘Wrong’_

_‘Then tell me what is right!’_  Dorian wants to scream back.

 

And he feels an acute hatred for himself and hatred for the fact that he’s unable to make an identity for himself out of the bright daylight through a window and the vastness of the station’s corridors.

 

He hates that he can’t be satisfied with what he has.

 

He hates that he can’t remember the man with the sad eyes.

 

*

 

He meets the man again.

 

He’s hauling himself out of a police vehicle and the motion looks painful on him.

 

His eyes are just as sad and dark as Dorian remembers.

 

Dorian remembers and the memory startles his memory net into light. The man sees him and he stops.

 

There is a look on his face.

_‘Hope’_  his programs say,  _‘John’_ they scream.

 

John.

 

His synapses are alive with those four letters; his programs, his every memory is overwriting to make room for its brilliance.

 

“John” he whispers as familiar arms wrap around him.

 

“John” a giant sob of relief and hope through empty tear ducts.

 

“John” because he remembers and there is no part of him that isn’t filled with equal parts joy and sadness.

 

“Dorian.” John whispers back and holds him tighter.

 

 

 


	7. Tattoo fic

 

The thing John still finds the strangest even now, months into his relationship with Dorian, is how his partner is so attentive towards his body. Every night he folds John’s exhausted body into their bed and covers it with touches and kisses in the comforting darkness, only lit by the darting lights of Dorian’s memory net.

 

The edges of his tattoo are traced again and again, until John can almost feel the phantom sting of the needle. Dorian liked listening to the story of how he got it, how he and Cooper had gotten drunk after their last exam and how the tattoo artist had refused to draw him a cheetah so John had chosen the dragon instead. He’d chosen it because it looked strong and unafraid, exactly how he’d felt back then.

 

Dorian seems particularly fascinated by his stump, feeling the ridges of scar tissue and resting a protective hand against it as they sleep. It made John tremble in shame for the entirety of their first month together, because he’s so used to pretending that it’s not there, that there’s nothing missing, and the touch should feel like something invasive, but Dorian is so gentle, almost reverent in his intent, that it’s somehow healing instead.

 

He touches John like he’s something special and he’s not sure when the notion became something he embraced and not something he should run away from.

 

One night, while they were tangled together and Dorian’s memory net was just bright enough to keep John from sleeping, John finally decided to ask him about it.

 

“While I’m not complaining about the touches-“

 

“Of course you aren’t, you were pretty vocal about enjoying them just a few minutes ago.” Dorian’s smile turned smug and his hand skimmed lower, over the shrapnel scars on John’s side.

 

“Whoa there, partner, give me some time to recover. We can’t all have superhuman stamina.”

 

“Considering how inactive you were in this particular field before we got together, one would presume there to be some sort of buildup.”

 

“Hey! I was plenty active in ‘this particular field’.” Dorian rolled on top of him with a mischievous smile.

 

“Oh?”

 

John’s ‘Plenty!’ was swallowed up by their kiss.

 

Some minutes later, John was absent-mindedly running his thumb over the pressure points under Dorian’s chin, watching the blissful expression on his face. His hand drifted upward to cradle the cheek that usually lit up in blue and Dorian opened his eyes into an inquisitive expression.

 

“I thought you’d have memorized me by now. There’s no need to re-record your data every night.”

 

Dorian sighed, his cheek glowing blue through John’s fingers, and John was struck momentarily by how seamlessly the two completely alien expressions fit together so perfectly on Dorian’s face.

 

“But John, your body isn’t the same every night. You change.” His hand slid from John’s side to stroke against his ribs. “The suspect bruised you when he slammed into you today. You’ll be feeling this one for a while.” His hand drifted to John’s neck. “You cut yourself shaving yesterday. By the fuss you made, I thought you’d slit your throat, at the very least.” He laughed at John’s expression, his fingers coming up to touch his face. “And you have a wrinkle right…here.” His finger smoothed away John’s grimace. “How many times do I have to tell you that if you frown too much it’ll stay that way?”

 

John stayed silent, too aware of what Dorian wasn’t saying. No matter how human Dorian was, his experiences would never touch the smoothness of his skin. There were no scars, no age lines and no traces on Dorian’s body of any of the bullets he’d taken for John over the years. And there never would be, his body as perfect as the day he’d stepped out of the production line. Even the lines of a tattoo would be gone in a few hours under the onslaught of the medical nanobots.

 

He knew that meeting the other DRNs had shaken something in Dorian and that his greatest and deepest fear was of forgetting himself, of forgetting John. If his memories and case files were taken away, then there would be nothing to remind Dorian of who he was. That he was John’s partner as much as John was his.

 

John fell asleep in Dorian’s arms, but his thoughts were miles away.

 

He woke up after a few hours to an empty bed, Dorian gone to his biopod to recharge. He was cold and his ribs were hurting, but he had the barest inklings of an idea.

 

*

 

He talked it through with Rudy, who was enthusiastic about the idea after he stopped turning green at the thought of it. A few days of overtime, for which John owed him another visit to the bar, and John was carefully stashing away a cartridge of ink.

 

When John drove them home a few evenings later, he parked in front of a tattoo parlor and handed a surprised Dorian the piece of paper he’s been worrying in his pocket for the whole day

 

“There’s a date on here.” John had to take a fortifying breath before continuing.

 

“It’s the date you were recomissioned and I woke you up in Rudy’s lab.” Dorian still looked confused. “I talked to Rudy and he made some ink that would stay visible and last even if your skin had to be replaced. And then I made us an appointment here.” He jerked his head towards the tattoo parlor.

 

“You want me to get a tattoo.” Dorian spoke slowly and without any inflection and the doubt in John grew.

 

“Only if you want to. You don’t need to, obviously. I just thought…” He was cut off by an armful of happy android and kisses that shut him up for a while.

 

Hours later they were both back in the car on their way home, the smell of ink and antiseptic still heavy around them.

 

“It was a good date you picked.” Dorian mused, eyes periodically drawn to the spot on his thigh where the white bandage was hidden under his pants.

 

“I wanted a white cheetah, but Rudy said there wasn’t enough ink to draw it.”

 

Dorian snorted and John grinned at the road, fingers drifting to rest right where his stump met the prosthetic, on the spot mirroring Dorian’s, where his own tattoo was covered by white gauze.

 

It was a simple design, just a set of numbers in black ink.

 

But John was pretty sure that the way Dorian smiled when he saw the inked  _0167_ would stay with him forever.

 

 

 


	8. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set right after Unbound

 

 

The day was saved and the murderous XRN in pieces, and all the people from the restaurant would make a full recovery thanks to the help of modern medicine.

 

The politician Danica was after called a press conference as soon as he was checked out of the hospital. Unfortunately, his policies hadn’t changed.

 

 

"…all works of Nigel Vaughn are a danger to society and must be destroyed. This will not be an isolated incident and more and more of them will malfunction and then we’ll be dealing with an uprising!"

 

 

Dorian watched with rising horror as the press conference unfolded on the monitor in the precinct briefing room. Next to him, Captain Maldonado’s hand had come up to rub at her temples, her red nails stark in the dark surroundings.

 

 

John’s face was made of stone and for the first time Dorian had no idea what he was thinking about.

 

 

The broadcast ended and the captain turned the holoscreen dark, plunging the room into silence.

 

 

John pulled on his jacket in a nonchalant motion before heading out of the room, gesturing for Dorian to follow him.

 

 

"John, where are you going?" The captain was frowning, but Dorian could barely hear her as all of his algorithms went into overdrive immediately, trying to find a solution that wasn’t there. If it became mandatory that he be decommissioned then there would be nothing he could do about it.

 

 

"To follow up our lead on the suspect. Come on Dorian."

 

 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" A look he couldn’t interpret passed between the captain and his partner, before Maldonado gave a small nod.

 

 

"I’m sure." said John, grabbing Dorian by the elbow and guiding him out of the precinct.

 

 

*

 

 

The silence in the car did nothing to assuage the tension Dorian was feeling, in fact, John’s refusal to answer any questions was making it even worse. Eventually he couldn’t take it any more.

 

 

"John-" 

 

 

"How long can your current charge last?"

 

 

"About 26 hours, but John…"

 

 

"Be specific! No colloquialism routines. How long on minimal usage?"

 

 

"36 hours, 22 minutes and 47 seconds!" Dorian turned to glare at him, frightened and frustrated. "John, what the hell is going on? I could be decommissioned tomorrow, so the least you can do is stop playing the tough cop and tell me what you’re thinking!" 

 

 

John was silent for a moment and Dorian noticed they were driving in a direction that wasn’t anywhere near the suspect’s house.

 

 

"We are going to a place I know, where the taps on our phone lines will conveniently stop working for a little while. When we’re there, I’ll start making a few phone calls." His profile looked grim against the clouds bringing rain on the horizon. Dorian had never seen him look so focused, unless it was behind the barrel of a gun.

 

 

"I don’t understand." whispered Dorian, trying to desperately rein in the spark of hope rapidly trailing through his synapses.

 

 

"Well, I’ve made some contacts in the time I was a cop and a lot of important people owe me some important favours. I intend to call them in."

 

 

"Call them in for what? What are you saying?"

 

 

"They can’t exactly deactivate you if they can’t find you, can they?" 

 

 

They stopped at a red light and John reached over the console to briefly squeeze Dorian’s hand that had been clenched into a fist. 

 

 

"Run your hibernation routine. I’ve got this under control."

 

 

And Dorian did what he always did when they found themselves in an impossible situation. He trusted his partner. His problem solving algorithms shut down, the override code on them shining brightly on his display. Dorian shut his eyes and went to hibernation, the 

 

 

01101011 01100101 01101110 01101110 01100101 01111000

 

 

flashing in his data somehow calming him down.

 

 

They car sped soundlessly down the road.

 

 

Before them, the imposing grey structure of the Wall loomed closer and closer.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://jjjat3am.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


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